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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821713">Giving Back</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl'>ktbl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wabi-Sabi [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Cyborgs, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Misunderstandings, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Secrets, Training, Weapons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:20:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy visits Watchpoint: Gibraltar for a firearms lesson with McCree, and leaves with more than she bargained for when Genji finally figures out how to give a little something back to his doctor. </p><p>--</p><p>She hated it; Genji could tell by the way her shoulders were almost up to her ears. No matter what McCree did, no matter how he cajoled and wheedled, how his hands slipped along her shoulders to get her to stand just so, how he nudged her feet wider, her body always reverted back to the tighter, tenser form it had held. Genji smiled behind his faceplate, almost laughing; Jesse was playing up every stereotype of an American cowboy, and terrible firearms teacher. </p><p>“Are you just trying to be this terrible a stereotype,” Angela asked tartly, her voice carrying clearly to Genji's ears, “or are you actually trying to flirt with me?” </p><p>Genji’s smile widened. She really was clever. </p><p>--</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Genji Shimada &amp; Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Jesse McCree &amp; Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Jesse McCree &amp; Genji Shimada</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wabi-Sabi [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From his vantage point in the slightly elevated observation gallery, Shimada Genji felt like he was watching a piece of theater from a box seat. Blackwatch’s cyborg ninja leaned on the railing, fingers grasping it loosely and watching the firing range. He was afraid to hold it too tightly, lest he break the metal - sometimes his grip strength with his cybernetic hand was greater than he expected, particularly under stress. Down below, his teammate Jesse McCree stood close to Dr. Angela Ziegler, Overwatch’s head of medical research, and woman who looked like there was probably nowhere else on the planet she <em>wouldn’t</em> rather be.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">McCree reached up with two fingers and tipped his hat back, looking at the woman beside him. “Now, look here, Mercy. You’re only going to get better with practice.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate this.” Dressed in leggings and a long sweater, she held the Caduceus blaster loosely in her hands, her face wrinkling unhappily. “I do not want to be doing this, Jesse. And I’m not Mercy. Not here.” She looked like she’d smelled something terrible, though the room would only smell like concrete, gunpowder, and the faintly singed paper of targets. Maybe some of McCree’s cigar smoke might screw her face up so unpleasantly, but Genji was willing to lay most of it on the firearms.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine then. Angela. Even if you don’t want to, you still have to,” he pointed out, “because you’re that important.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I should have taken Ana up on training,” she said, sighing. “Ana or… anyone except you, really.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Ana and Gabriel taught me a thing or two - and I have my own skills. You’re getting the benefit of three different teachers all in one.” He winked, and she exhaled. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just wish I did not have to deal with this gun.” How could McCree not tell how much she hated holding the gun? Even Genji could tell from up here, the way her fingers barely grasped it, just enough for safety’s sake. Not like McCree held his, gentle and cradled in his hands like a lover’s head. Genji would bet everything - not that he had much to bet, now - that Dr. Ziegler only took the blaster out when she had her obligatory sessions or when she was on a mission. She would care for it and do the maintenance it required, but it was still a tool of violence, a weapon she would tuck away as soon as she could justify it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sooner we’ve got your training done, the better, right? You can put that thing back in its case and we can get a couple of drinks. You bring anything good over from HQ?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did bring beers as promised,” she said slowly. “Maybe we could see how my shooting is after one?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nah. Not good firearms safety.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hah!” She let out a sharp laugh, and it ricocheted off the bare utilitarian walls and floor. “Firearms safety, from you of all people?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Half an hour, like we agreed on, then drinks in the lounge.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do not know why I agreed to this,” she complained, taking the blaster back fully into her grip. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You asked, remember?” He moved further into the firing range, and she followed, sighing. “You said ‘Hey Jesse, I’m a combat medic who’s got all the medical training and not much of the combat part, would you help me so I’m not putting you all more at risk?’ And I said ‘Of course, Angela, anything you ask,’ and you batted those big beautiful eyes at me and said you’d bring me a case of beer if I helped you get your firearms certification up.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have regrets.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shelve them.” He gently nudged her towards one of the lanes with a broad hand spread over the center of her almost oversized green sweater. “You’ve gotta do better than you did last month or you might find yourself stuck in the lab, and then where would our battle angel be? Can’t let you hang up those wings.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Make that a lot of regrets,” Angela said, plucking a pair of the large hearing protectors from a hook and settling them over her head. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hated it; Genji could tell by the way her shoulders were almost up to her ears. No matter what McCree did, no matter how he cajoled and wheedled, how his hands slipped along her shoulders to get her to stand just <em>so</em>, how he nudged her feet wider, her body always reverted back to the tighter, tenser form it had held. Genji smiled behind his faceplate, almost laughing; Jesse was playing up every stereotype of an American cowboy, and terrible firearms teacher. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you just trying to be this terrible a stereotype,” Angela asked tartly, her voice carrying clearly to Genji’s ears, “or are you actually trying to flirt with me?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Genji’s smile widened. She really <em>was</em> clever. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Trying to live down to your expectations, Ange. How many bad American Westerns have you seen?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“More than enough. If you’re going to insist we do this, can you at least be serious about it, Jesse?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have been, just trying to be nice about it. Figure you want to do this, least I can do is make it less awful.” He winked. “Now, try and maybe put all that stuff I’ve been telling you and showing you into practice? There’s the target, just go for center mass.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Resigned, Angela lifted her Caduceus blaster and fired a series of the projectiles towards the target. She went through a clip and then lay the blaster down again. Jesse flicked a switch and the target came towards them. He looked at it with narrowed eyes, and Genji’s enhanced vision let him catch the placement of most of the shots. It wasn’t a bad spread, as he understood it - few had gone awry, but all of them managed to stay in the black.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s our valkyrie,” Jesse said with a grin, clapping her on the shoulder. “Should be good enough to bring that back to Jack and get Commander Morrison to up your certification. Got to keep at it, though. Let’s police our- well, you ain’t got brass. So I’ll clean up, and meet you in the lounge.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela nodded, turning for the door. Her eyes flicked up into the gallery and landed squarely on Genji. She met his gaze flashing him a bright smile that creased the skin by her eyes and bared bright white teeth. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded to her, politely, and swiftly exited before McCree turned around to see him. He found Angela in the hall, blaster in its case at her side. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Genji, I hadn’t thought to see you. I hope you’re doing well?” Her voice was light, a little throatier than he remembered it. “It’s been - what, nearly four months since you made your… move here?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, about that. I am well enough. But surely you could simply look that up in records?” He stepped a little closer to her and inclined his shoulders in a partial bow to her. There was no scent of disinfectant around her, the scent he’d grown accustomed to in her presence. Instead, it was a faint tinge of ozone from firing the blaster, with some kind of delicate floral smell he almost couldn’t catch. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not technically my direct patient anymore,” she said carefully, “so I feel a bit awkward looking into that unless I’m asked to. Invasion of your privacy and all that, and I know how sensitive you are about it, so I want to respect your choices.” She smiled across at him; they were almost of a height, and it set him at ease, compared to the stocky build of McCree or the elongated figure of Dr. O’Deorain. Angela was clean-cut and simple, and he felt at ease with her. “I prefer to hear it directly from you. Is everything functioning all right? The joints and your cables, all the systems…?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing I would burden you with, Dr. Ziegler.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Angela, please. Like I had to remind Jesse… right now, I’m not Mercy, or a doctor, I’m just an Overwatch agent getting a little extra firearms practice from one of her friends.” She pursed her lips and pointed her chin in the direction of the lounge. “I never thought to ask, before. Do you drink? Alcohol, I mean?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“On occasion. I have had very little since joining Blackwatch. It affects me differently now, and I am… not at ease with it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Less body mass to support it,” she said thoughtfully, nodding. “Well, I owed Jesse several bottles of beer for his firearms training, and I’m not sure how much I’ll drink, so you’re welcome to come and join us in the lounge. I leave in a few hours, on the return supply flight.” She paused, tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Would you care to join us?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will McCree mind?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t particularly care if he does,” she replied, winking at him. “It’s been far too long since I got to talk with you, find out how you’re doing. He’s just in it for the beer.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am not,” McCree said lazily as he walked up the hall towards them. “I’m in it for the pretty company <em>and</em> the beer. C’mon, Shimada, you’ve got a nice jawline and pretty eyes, might as well join in.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Genji was rooted to the floor at McCree’s words. Angela laughed, a rich sound that made her shoulders shake.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop teasing him, Jesse. That’s not fair at all. You’ve been bothering me for at least an hour, I can manage to be the target a little longer. Give him a bit of a reprieve. He’s got to spend most of his time with you, after all!” The blonde woman glared despite her grin, trying to cross her arms with the blaster case in hand and failing. She finally settled for standing with the blaster case in hand and trying to look cross.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He can defend himself, Ange. I’ve seen him do it. He’s good at what he does.” Jesse’s eyes flicked to Genji, nodding in acknowledgment. “Still - pretty sure he could be some fancy-ass model, even with your work on him. We going to drink what you brought over, or just stand here in the hallway and pretend we’re going to?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Drink,” Angela said, meeting Genji’s eyes. “Please?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wavered - he didn’t want to take off his faceplate. Angela knew his face, the scars and damage, and McCree had surely seen it by now, but there was a difference between rushed, quiet dining - Genji’s preference - and social drinking. He wouldn’t have called her expression pleading; he had the feeling Angela never pleaded, never begged, but there was a look on her face, one that made him want to say yes just so he could see if it made her smile again.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perhaps a small amount,” he said, and was rewarded as he’d hoped, a little one that bowed her lips and rounded her cheeks a bit.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” she said, reaching out or him and then pulling her hand back quickly. “Come on, then, Jesse. Time I pay up, I suppose.” She took a few steps with Jesse and then turned back with another smile to Genji. It was the smile that made him wonder if he should have his heart checked because it stuttered, except it was still organic.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela tucked herself up onto the battered couch, half a glass of beer in her hand. She leaned back against the arm, and Jesse dropped down beside her while Genji sat stiffly in an overstuffed chair across from them. “Pröschtli!” She raised up her glass. Her eyes settled on Genji, holding his half-glass, but his mask still on. Her eyes flicked to Jesse and she tapped her glass against his bottle and took a drink. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Genji set the glass on a small table, reaching up and unfastening the catches for the faceplate that covered his mouth and nose, and gently tugged aside the thin synthetic padding covering for most of his lower jaw. It kept it protected from the metal of the faceplate, and hid some of the scarring he so despised. He saw Angela’s eyes on it, the bright clinical gleam of curiosity, and he lifted his glass to his mouth, taking a deliberate sip. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No problems?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Angela, can you not be a doctor for thirty seconds?” Jesse jabbed her lightly in the side with a finger. “Give the man a break. Makes me realize exactly why he doesn’t take the damn thing off if you do that every time. A guy likes to know a lady likes to look at him. You look like you want to take him apart, and I don’t mean in the fun kind of way.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was mortified by Jesse’s bluntness, her face turning the pink of cherry blossoms and the muscles in her neck and jaw going rigid. She turned her face away and began to pick at the stuffing exposed from a split in the couch arm.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She has already had me on a table and put me back together. I am not worried about Dr - Angela’s intentions.” Genji tried to give her a reassuring look but was certain that against the scars and the black and red color scheme of his attire and cybernetics, it had to look more threatening than not. He wasn’t sure if she was looking, anyway, face hidden by the tangles of blonde hair. “There are no problems. Though the taste of the beer is…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Different?” Jesse tilted his head in the cyborg’s direction.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a local beer from where I grew up, a lager,” Angela supplied, the flush of blood and embarrassment slowly subsiding. “If I was going to pay in beer, I decided I would at least take the opportunity to try to give Jesse something better than what he brought back from America.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hah,” Jesse said, leaning back with a grin and taking a pull from his bottle. “Sex in a canoe beer.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Genji turned his eyes on Jesse, confused but grateful he’d swallowed his drink. Angela wasn’t so lucky, and nearly spit some of hers out with a startled laugh.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fucking close to water,” he explained. “This ain’t half bad though, doc.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Correct answer,” she said primly, sipping hers. “I will look for some Japanese beers the next time I’m out - I will guess you don’t have much of an opportunity to go shopping for them when you’re out.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re right.” He inclined his head towards her, cupping his glass in both hands. “It’s not something you need to worry about, though. I don’t think I would enjoy them much now.” Genji looked into the cup of amber beer. “May I ask a question, Angela?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Always.” She shifted on the couch, drawing her feet up and not quite sitting on them, leaning in a little closer to Jesse with the movement. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why did you ask for firearms practice if you are so reluctant?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jesse’s chest rose and fell with heavy laughter, and the blonde scientist gave him a scathing look. He grinned broadly, smile bright in his tanned face. “Yeah, Ange. Why did you ask if you’re always soo bent out of shape about it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because it isn’t fair,” she said, seriously. “I do not like fighting. I do not like weapons.” Genji felt his stomach twist - he was a weapon. She had made him into one, cybernetic enhancements that meant he was more machine than man. She must hate him, then, and hide it well. “But it isn’t fair, either, to be reliant upon everyone else to protect me when I have to go into the field. I become a liability more than an asset.” She exhaled, setting her beer down and reaching up to undo her ponytail. She combed her fingers through her hair absentmindedly. “I didn’t even want the gun, but it was pushed on me as compulsory. Some kind of firearm.” She gathered all her hair back up, redoing the ponytail. “And Jesse is good with guns, and so are Ana and Gabriel, and everyone’s been trying to make me less hopeless.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re important to us, Angela,” Jesse said with a surprising hint of sincerity in his voice, angling himself to face her. “C’mon. How many times do you patch up one of us? Your damn biotic tech has done incredible things, and Morrison’s made sure you’ve got all the money and research teams you could want. We’re selfish. We want to make sure you’re around, and you’re able to take care of yourself in the field if you’re in a pinch.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s what the wings are for.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your staff,” Genji said in the pause, eyes flicking to her. There was one way to tell if she found him more weapon than man, or if she hadn’t been joking with the way she treated him. She’d always seemed to treat him the same as everyone else, but since he’d been discharged from her care, they hadn’t communicated much. “Do you ever fight with that?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rarely. It’s so - the technology in it is somewhat delicate. I can in an emergency, but I’m… well. Worse with using it as a weapon than the blaster.” She blushed again and took a drink. “And I’m surrounded by marksmen, anyway.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you’re so determined to improve your combat capabilities,” Genji said, looking down at the drink and back to her, “I would be more than happy to work with you on better managing your staff.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You would what?” Angela looked at him, blue eyes clearly baffled.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have not used a bo in many years,” Genji said casually, flexing his cybernetic hand. “It would be good practice for me - more combat training, would it not?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He heard Jesse chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know about that,” Angela said carefully. “You have been training with Jesse and with Gabriel, and if there was a concern they would have brought it to me. You’ve been running operations for some time already… Surely if there was a question about your fighting skills, they would have brought it to Commander Morrison, and if it was medical…” She wrinkled her nose slightly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have McCree for firearms, and Reyes, and Morrison, and probably any other number of people willing to spend time with you for that.” Genji pointed out reasonably, with a slight gleam in his eye. “And yet the Caduceus staff remains your primary weapon - even though you don’t often use it as such. I can teach you how to use your staff for defense. Non-lethal defense.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If she’d had an animal’s ears, they would have perked. Instead, she just leaned off the couch towards him, eyes bright, glass forgotten in her hands.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can, and I will. If you are willing.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Non-lethal force…” The words rolled off her lips, and he couldn’t quite pull her eyes off her excited face. “Absolutely, Genji. Name the time and place.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It depends on how often you can spare the time,” he said carefully, shrugging. He did not want to press his advantage now. “I do not have much chance to come to Switzerland, given matters, but perhaps the next time you come to see McCree, we could do some work.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Done. And if you’re ever in Switzerland, Overwatch has guest facilities.” She took another drink from her glass. “I will bring the staff the next time I’m here. I’ll be in touch with dates once I look at my calendar again. There are some new projects, and it’s becoming a difficult beast to track.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re going to have to find some way to do that. Don’t think I’ve seen him go near email or sending messages once.” Jesse took another pull from his bottle. “He’s got the company issued comm, but that’s it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who do I have to talk to? My family thinks I’m dead, and I am part of a black ops team, which is part of a fancy strike force based in Europe.” Genji snorted. “It isn’t as if I can go out clubbing or meet anyone like this, either.” He gestured at himself, and deliberately crossed his mechanical legs at the ankles. “My days of a busy schedule, getting the high score at the Hanamura arcade and spending all night out, are gone.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Blackwatch makes it more difficult,” Jesse admitted, “but it ain’t impossible.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For you. You’re still whole.” Genji set the glass of beer down on a table. “I am… what I am is obvious, no matter how many people have cybernetics after the Omnic Crisis, and the developments of technology. Someone like me…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is a miracle,” Angela said, finishing her drink and standing. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Genji balefully. “And I will not have you badmouthing my patients, current or former, is that clear?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, doctor,” he said, lips twisting slightly in another smile.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. There’s a flight I’m supposed to be on, along with a few pieces of cargo that I need to make sure were appropriately packed, and I need to check with Gabriel before I leave.” She squeezed one of Jesse’s shoulders, over the short black serape he wore. Jesse reached up a hand and put it over hers, holding it there for just a moment, before he let it go. As she walked over to Genji, she reached out a hand. He brushed his flesh fingers against it, touching fingertips to fingertips. “I’ll see you here, or in Switzerland, all right?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doctor’s orders?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doctor’s orders,” she confirmed with a wink and a smile, and he nodded, following her with his eyes as she walked out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jesse looked at him after she left the room, and tipped his hat respectfully to Genji. “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excuse me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Took me a long time to get her to agree to extra shooting practice. You…” Jesse waggled his fingers. “Non-lethal staff shit. Sneaky.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am a ninja,” Genji said with a rare smile. “And it is true. Overwatch gave her a staff so she could work from a distance, but no one gave her the training to use it beyond pointing it in a general direction. She’s given so much to me - the least I can do is give back a little to her.”  </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">It took Angela nearly three days to summon up the willpower to message her former patient. Former, she firmly reminded herself - he’d been her patient only until all the surgeries were completed, and she was head of medical research. There were others, like Rosenberg, who handled the general cases. Her phone seemed to stare accusingly at her from the corner of her desk, or sat heavy in her coat pocket as she rode home. She sent messages to colleagues and friends, but pulling up Shimada Genji in the contacts list was more difficult than it should have been. She considered her message choices several times and began to key one in. She bit down on her lower lip, erased it, wrote a new one, and repeated the process several times.</p><p class="p1">“Come on, Angela,” she muttered. “This is weapons practice with a colleague. He’s just like McCree. You’re the queen of the medical kingdom here - not a nervous first year about to be interrogated on rounds.” She closed her eyes and wiggled her fingers, taking several deep breaths. Treat it like a surgery. Focus. It was purely business. It didn’t matter if it was Shimada or Reyes or Amari.</p><p class="p1">[ZIEGLER A 0840]: Hello Genji, this is Angela. I wanted to find out if two weeks would be good timing for me to come out. I have a day off and there’s a supply flight coming out I can take. I know things are subject to change, but please let me know if that’s acceptable.</p><p class="p1">She sent the message and resolutely set the phone to the side, focusing on the emails and reports that had been steadily piling up while she agonized about a single text. There were research findings to read, administrative responsibilities to attend to, and she did have a paper she was working on. She needed to get herself down the hall without looking like a daydreamer for a meeting in fifteen minutes. It would hardly do for the head of a global agency’s medical research department to come in unprepared and preoccupied over something entirely unprofessional. She kept grinding that reminder into her head.</p><p class="p1">She managed ten minutes before she looked at the bright blue notification on her phone, announcing a response. She wondered if his fingers had managed well enough on the touchscreen; she’d tried to make sure the pads were adequately conductive.</p><p class="p1">[SHIMADA G 0845]: Good to hear from you, Dr Ziegler. Two weeks is fine. Need practice weapons. <br/>[SHIMADA G 0847]: Can you get 2 staffs or spare parts for yours so we can start with the proper weight?</p><p class="p1">Angela exhaled in relief, shoulders dropping down with tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying. That was a simple enough request; there were several experimental staves down with Torbjörn. She could make off with two without a problem. One last message, and then the meeting.</p><p class="p1">[ZIEGLER A 0855]: I can do that. Let me know how you take payment. :)</p><p class="p1">Why had she put a smiley face on that? She was a doctor. A scientist. She was a woman of logic and skill - not of colons and parentheses and emojis. She could recall the message-</p><p class="p1">No, there were ellipses. He’d seen it and was replying. She could feel the faint red of a blush blooming on her cheeks, and shoved the phone into her pocket and tried to ignore it for the entirety of the meeting, losing herself in the technical discussion and consideration of the research paths for the department to pursue in the coming months. By the time they broke for lunch, it no longer felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket, and she’d somehow genuinely forgotten about it until it was time to break for coffee and she felt it buzz with a handful of messages. One of them was Genji's - sent right before she'd gone into the meeting.</p><p class="p1">[SHIMADA G 0856]: You have done enough for me. This is the least I can do.</p><p class="p1">She spun her chair around to look out her window and debated on her response. He liked the finer things, she remembered that - he had grown up an indulged child in a wealthy family. Clearly not an offer of wine or beer or hard liquor…</p><p class="p1">[ZIEGLER A 1430]: That came through garbled, you said chocolate right?</p><p class="p1">[SHIMADA G 1432]: Text messages can’t come through garbled, nice try. A for effort.</p><p class="p1">She grinned, really grinned. Never a response like that out of him in person, even while he’d been on-site, even at the most relaxed of times. Perhaps it had something to do with the distance allowed by the text, that there was no immediate pressure to reply, no one looking at him and wondering how he’d respond. That would be reasonable, based off of the psychological changes pursuant to the cybernetic modifications.</p><p class="p1">Or maybe he was just getting more comfortable with the new reality, becoming part of a new group.</p><p class="p1">[ZIEGLER A 1432]: Dark or milk?</p><p class="p1">[SHIMADA G 1433]: Your choice. :)</p><p class="p1">[ZIEGLER A 1434]: You are unhelpful.</p><p class="p1">[SHIMADA G 1434]: :) :) :)</p><p class="p1">The string of smiley faces surprised her; it wasn’t the type of response she had expected. He was normally so stoic and serious, his words so considered, that she didn’t quite know how to handle it. She was grateful he was easing up, at least. Her phone remained quiet until a string of messages shortly after she officially finished work for the day, and she glanced at it. Not Genji.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">[MCCREE J 1840]: so you’re texting shimada now</p><p class="p1">[MCCREE J 1841]: wasnt sure he actually had a phone</p><p class="p1">[ZIEGLER A 1843]: I do actually send messages to more people than just you, you know.</p><p class="p1">[MCCREE J 1844]: well you sure cheered him up. didnt think he could smile til now</p><p class="p1">[MCCREE J 1844]: thought those nerves were busted</p><p class="p1">[ZIEGLER A 1845]: Facial musculature is complex but not beyond my skills. And just for that I won’t bring you any beer.</p><p class="p1">[MCCREE J 1846]: now that’s just mean</p><p class="p1">[ZIEGLER A 1847]: I’m a concerned friend looking out for your liver.</p><p class="p1">[MCCREE J 1848]: you’re killing me Angie</p><p class="p1">[ZIEGLER A 1849]: I’m not, that’s rather the point!</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Angela felt a peculiar sort of restlessness on the short hop of a supply flight two weeks later. She carried the two staffs she and Torbjörn had weighted, along with a small care package she’d carefully packed for Genji. She hoped it would meet approval; Jesse had been easy and straightforward. Beer, and coming out as often as she could manage. They were close in age and the insistence of Overwatch in keeping Blackwatch at arm’s length meant he had little opportunity to socialize. She had found herself slowly elevated onto a pedestal over the years, between her parents’ deaths, her rapid ascendancy through the world of medicine, Head of Surgery role, and then the breakthroughs in nanobiology. Jesse cared very little about all of it. It was pleasantly refreshing to just be twenty-something again, and not a department head or a scientist around him.</p><p class="p1">Genji was an entirely different man than the American was. Between the cybernetics and simply not knowing him terribly well as a person, she wasn’t sure what box he fit in. No longer a patient, not quite a friend - a distant colleague? The attempts to classify him had eluded her, and despite her attempts even on the flight out to Blackwatch, continued to do so.</p><p class="p1">She usually was the observer when it came to training rooms. Being one of those inside, doing the actual fighting, was infrequent at best. It always made her uncomfortable, despite the way everyone tried to make sure she was capable. The idea of standing in here with a staff and the intent to strike someone, even with non-lethal force, had set her stomach into knots.</p><p class="p1">Across from her, Genji hefted up the other staff, and tossed it lightly from hand to hand. She noted the quick movements, the proof the enhanced muscle regeneration and increased nerve response had been successful. “These should be suitable. The weight seems a little odd.”</p><p class="p1">“I asked Torbjörn to weight them to mimic the accurate weight of the current staff I use,” she explained as she finished braiding her hair into a no-nonsense plait. The ninja’s expression was nearly unreadable, so she waited with a kind of nervousness she thought she’d put behind with left her days of medical school and residency. “We’re in the process of redesigning it, but I believed it would be prudent to work with what my existing equipment is, rather than a future hypothetical.”</p><p class="p1">“It makes sense,” he said, “I just need to familiarize myself with the different weight. Today, my goal is to see what you know and then to make sure you have adequate basic moves you can use for keeping someone at bay until you can get support, or bounce out of the way. We’ll work on more once you get more comfortable.”</p><p class="p1">“I do not bounce,” she said indignantly. He passed her the other staff, and she curled her fingers around it possessively.</p><p class="p1">“When you use your Valkyrie suit to more quickly catch up to someone so you can use the staff’s streams, then.” He made a soft sound that could have been amusement.</p><p class="p1">“Better.”</p><p class="p1">“Now, first steps. Show me how you hold your staff when you are healing. Please.”</p><p class="p1">They made their way slowly through a skills assessment, and Angela was quietly impressed with the patience he had, the thoroughness with which he explored what she knew. Objectively she could analyze and review it, but subjectively she’d never felt more like a child being thoroughly put in their place. She would think she successfully managed something, only to have him knock her down, or offer a polite but sharp critique. She felt unbalanced, the entire time,</p><p class="p1">Whether it was her hand placement (“Too close, you need to widen it to have a better grip and balance, and so you can bring the staff up like this. See? Better already.”), her movement (“You are too tense. Relax, let your body move like water. Move aside before the strike can come, and find the hollow places you can exploit. When I turn to come for you like so, the backs of my legs are unguarded, and if you sweep I will fall.”), or her sheer reluctance to be the aggressor, his words were always precise. The criticisms prickled and wormed their way beneath her skin. She began to develop the feeling that becoming competent at this, at least according to his opinion, would be impossible. The best she could do would be tolerable.</p><p class="p1">When they moved to have her mimic his moves, she was relieved. He guided her through a set of three defensive motions, intended to block swords, knock firearms away, and to tangle feet so she could make her way to a safe place, either behind cover or deeper behind their own lines to heal. The extended time with her staff began to make her arms and shoulders ache, in addition to the increasing amount of stinging in her palms.</p><p class="p1">An hour later, both warm and breathing heavily, he paused.</p><p class="p1">“When mobility matters most, your utmost goal should be to remove that mobility for your opponent. With someone using firearms, damaging their hands or arms, knocking the weapon from them, will help. It’s very difficult to fire a gun when you’ve been disarmed, or when you cannot feel your hands. The same for myself and my swords. But for anyone… Please forgive me, Angela,” he said politely, took a step back, and used the butt end of the staff to knock her feet out from under her. She landed on her back, hands slapping down on the mats and glaring up at him.</p><p class="p1">“The best way is to always knock them off their feet and get away.” He reached a hand down to help her up, and she accepted it, still glaring.</p><p class="p1">“That was unfair.”</p><p class="p1">“Combat is never fair and just, Angela,” he said carefully. “That is a move you must practice. See if you can knock me down.”</p><p class="p1">“That won’t happen. You’re fast enough - I <em>made</em> you fast enough - to avoid it.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, that means if you manage to, you will have proven yourself.” He grinned at her, and she grinned back despite her frustration, and it made her stomach do strange things. “But give it a few practices, a few swings, and then we will call it quits for the day.”</p><p class="p1">He clearly gave her the chance to try, even turning his back on her slightly - not all the way, for that would have maddened her beyond all reason. After he neatly dodged several of the blows, one of them glancing off the ankle joint as she pulled it back quickly, he waved her off. “Good enough for the first day. You’ll get better, but there is a lot of work ahead.”</p><p class="p1">“I should not ever have to defend myself like this. Especially against a ninja.” She scowled at him, leaning against the staff and rubbing her palms, trying to work out the ache of clenched fingers.</p><p class="p1">“May I?”</p><p class="p1">She blinked. “May you what?”</p><p class="p1">“A hand exercise one of my masters taught me.” Genji reached for one hand with both of his and began to rub carefully at the muscles. He knew precisely where to touch, for the tight aches began to ease almost immediately. He had an excellent knowledge of anatomy. Then again, he was a ninja, a warrior - he should know where to land his blows the best, how the muscles and bones knit together, the better to take someone apart. Her role was to mend, and his was to destroy.</p><p class="p1">“You’re a surgeon, yes? Or you were, I believe I heard. So you know the importance of taking care of your hands. The hand exercises you instructed me in, you should do as well, but not to the point of pain. Strengthen your muscles in your fingers, build endurance in them for the grip of the staff, and we will begin to work on rotation of it once you are more comfortable.”</p><p class="p1">“Rotation?”</p><p class="p1">“Spinning it to block blows, to distract, to push someone back. No one likes a large spinning thing coming for them.” He stopped massaging her hand as diligently, fingers making long, smooth strokes along her fingers and palm and up to her wrist but without as much pressure behind them, just gentle repetitive touches. “Perhaps, if you are prone to fidgeting during meetings, consider playing with a pencil. It will help develop some of the muscle memory you will want.”</p><p class="p1">“I can only imagine finger-walking scalpels during a surgery,” she muttered, eyes on their hands. He let his fingers drop, and her stomach curled in on itself until he picked up her other hand, to repeat the gestures.</p><p class="p1">“It may not inspire the greatest confidence in your patients, but it will help you develop the skills you need. Eventually, if you can keep me from getting within your guard, you will be able to hold me off long enough for someone else to get to you.”</p><p class="p1">“I suppose you are correct.”</p><p class="p1">“I am.”</p><p class="p1">“Can teach you how to finger-walk a bullet on the flight back, Ange.” Jesse’s voice came from behind her, slow and amused. She spun around, and her staff clattered to the ground, the sound loud in the room. Genji’s touch suddenly seared her hands, and his fingers pulled away from hers with equal speed.</p><p class="p1">“So, after a go with him and a go with me, who’s worse?” The American grinned broadly.</p><p class="p1">“You are both terrible men,” she informed them, eyes skipping between them, both looking satisfied with themselves. She was annoyed more than angry, and wriggled her fingers, began rubbing one hand with the other. “I cannot decide which one of you I detest more at the moment.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sure.” He chuckled, and she wondered how much of their sparring - her embarrassment - he’d been around to witness. “At least I haven’t actually been hitting you,” Jesse drawled. “I just help you with your aim and all.”</p><p class="p1">“You enjoy watching me deal with the kickback on your peacekeeper,” she responded irritably.</p><p class="p1">“You ought to see Ashe and her toys,” he said. “Then you’ll know kickback. Pretty sure someone gave her shock-absorbing joints to handle it, and she’s just never confessed.” He pushed off the wall. “You two done?”</p><p class="p1">“For now,” Genji said, inclining himself in a polite bow to Angela.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“If you are so opposed to violence, then why did you join Overwatch?” Genji tilted his head curiously at her like a bird. She couldn’t decide if he reminded her of a raptor with the pointed helm, or something smaller and far more inquisitive.</p><p class="p1">“Opportunity,” she replied bluntly, drawing her knees up on the couch and shifting to sit sideways. “Jack came to me with the opportunity. Money, and research, and a budget. He appealed to my altruistic nature… helping the most number of people with the least amount of interference.” She reached over and handed him the box she’d brought along. “And here is your payment for my lesson, before I forget.”</p><p class="p1">“Morrison knows how to appeal to someone’s deepest desires.” Genji settled on the couch, giving her room. “Taking down the Shimada for me, knowledge and research freedom for you. People do not give him half the credit for his cleverness that he deserves.” He leaned over and picked up the box. She tried to keep her expression neutral, hoping he’d like the contents.</p><p class="p1">“Mmm. You haven’t taken advantage of your leave yet, you know.”</p><p class="p1">“My leave?” Genji blinked a few times, and despite the helm and the coverage of his mouth, she could see the smile in the crinkles around his eyes.</p><p class="p1">“Your leave. You do get days off, but even this,” and she gestured at the Blackwatch site, “is still - well, you have leave. Ask Jesse about it. Gabriel probably is keeping it from you for his own reasons, but you are entitled to leave. I’m not sure when I can get back here - there are some things coming up that are going to be demanding my personal attention - but you are entitled to days off-site.”</p><p class="p1">“And you’re certain?”</p><p class="p1">“Absolutely. I know Jesse takes his, because sometimes he comes up to visit before or after something that brings him to Switzerland. You should think about it sometime.” A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll show you all the best places for chocolate, and I know <em>our</em> break room has a few arcade games in it because science has shown video and arcade games do have health benefits.”</p><p class="p1">“Hah!” His bark of laughter caught them both by surprise, and her grin split wider as he continued. “Are you serious?”</p><p class="p1">“Absolutely. Speaking of. Open that, let me know if I did all right?” She leaned back, drew herself a little tighter together, hoped she’d made the right guesses. Her eyes played across his body, looking at the tension in his neck and his exposed arm. “If it isn’t, I’ll-“</p><p class="p1">“I’m sure whatever you selected is fine, Angela,” he said easily, but her stomach twisted with worry.</p><p class="p1">“I had a little help,” she admitted as he lifted off the lid, “and some of it does require some assembly, but-“</p><p class="p1">“Is this - is this ramen ingredients?” His fingers reached into the box; the cybernetic ones, she noticed, picking the items out carefully.</p><p class="p1">“It is. You’ll need to pick the protein but there’s seasoning for it, I think it was a little white container?” She edged forward, reaching a hand in. “That, that’s what he said.”</p><p class="p1">“How did you manage this?” Genji looked up at her, his eyes wide, more dark brown than red in the light. He hadn’t switched the augmentations on - this was just him.</p><p class="p1">“I asked the people at the restaurant if they’d help me, for a friend out of town who was a little homesick.” She shrugged, turning her face away. “I’m sorry if it’s not-“</p><p class="p1">“Angela,” he said, voice rough and still slightly synthesized behind the mask, “this is more than enough. This is beyond my expectations.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, there are a few more things tucked in there for you. I could hardly bring Jesse several liters of beer and then only bring you a single meal.” She leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching the little of his face she could see. “I took the liberty of doing a little reading through your file.”</p><p class="p1">He lifted out a small rectangular box, and she could see the smile again, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the brown overwhelm the red.</p><p class="p1">“Green hair dye? Really?”</p><p class="p1">“I know it does not precisely match Blackwatch uniforms, but I get the feeling that you do not always care about rules and regulations.”</p><p class="p1">“Hate to break up your chat,” Jesse’s exaggerated drawl came from the doorway, where he leaned against the doorframe, “but it’s time to head back, Angela.” He looked from the cyborg to the woman and back again. “Got a little run to do for the bosses, a one-on-one kind of thing. You need anything from civilization?” As the younger man considered Jesse’s question, Angela stood up and slung her small bag over her shoulder, the weight familiar and comfortable. Jesse straightened up, keeping his eyes on the cyborg. Angela turned, just before she stepped out the door. “Goodbye, Genji. Let me know if there are any problems - you know how to reach me.”</p><p class="p1">“Do not forget your practice weapon,” Genji added, and she looked over her shoulder at him and wrinkled her nose briefly in annoyance. She grabbed the staff leaning against the wall. “At least fifteen minutes a day.” He couldn’t keep the grin off his face; even Jesse saw it, and his own mouth turned up in a lazy smile.</p><p class="p1">“You are getting me back, aren’t you?”</p><p class="p1">“Every little bit helps teach and remind your body how to move,” Genji’s voice was serious as he echoed Angela’s words from his physical therapy back at her. She groaned, and the grin widened a little more.</p><p class="p1">“What’s good for the goose, indeed,” she muttered, mouth tugging in a bit of a smile.</p><p class="p1">“You have much to catch up on. It isn’t your fault that some fool gave you a staff and no training in it. That’s irresponsible - even when my father and the clan decided I should serve as a ninja, they ensured I had the right training for it. You should scold them roundly.”</p><p class="p1">Disappointment thrust itself up in her chest as she looked at him from the door. “I have only myself to blame.” She pulled back, closer to Jesse, and felt a reassuring brush of his hand on her shoulder. Just a fingertip, but enough to know that he was there. Genji was baffled - it was in the way he held his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the way his cybernetic hand clawed into the back of the couch so hard she could almost hear it tear under pressure.</p><p class="p1">“I am the fool who decided on a staff, and everyone just assumed I knew what I was doing with it, or that using it didn’t require extra training.” She glared at him, fingers tight around the staff in question. “So yes, while you curse and insult them for leaving the combat medic,” she stressed the word, “untrained - it was my choice, too.”</p><p class="p1">“Angela…” he trailed off, and she looked to Jesse, turning her back on Genji resolutely.</p><p class="p1">“It’s time to go, isn’t it?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah. We’ve got a bird to catch.”</p><p class="p1">They walked down the hall, and Jesse kept pace, but his gait sounded funny, almost hitched.</p><p class="p1">“Did you pull something?” She raised a brow, professional behavior sliding over the internal turmoil.</p><p class="p1">“Nah. You’re just going fast and it’s a little hard to keep up. You know, maybe you were a little hard on him back there.”</p><p class="p1">“Jesse McCree, sympathetic?”</p><p class="p1">“He’s just trying to look out for you, like we all do.” He lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair as they walked. “Probably figured you’d been handed weapons - like that gun - you didn’t want, and was trying to stick up for you in the only way he knows how. He’s quick, just doesn’t always think things through.”</p><p class="p1">“He certainly did not think that through.” She could feel her jaw muscles tighten and she lengthened her stride further, sneakers not making nearly so impressive a sound as the clicking of her boot heels would have. It frustrated her and irritated her in a way she hadn’t anticipated was possible.</p><p class="p1">She spent the entire flight back with the staff across her thighs, looking at her hands and remembering how much they’d stung, and how much she’d liked him rubbing them, and how much she wanted to hate him right now. Jesse sat next to her and gave her the courtesy of pretending to sleep, hat slouched down to cover his eyes.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Genji realized he had made a mistake the minute the words flung themselves out of his mouth, and her lips turned down, her shoulders tightened. He recognized the look - she was a little like Hanzo when Genji had poked at a tender piece of pride. But he had pride, too, mangled and battered as it was. He did not like the idea of begging her forgiveness, but admitting wrong - well, that jabbed at him, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stewed in indecision for four days, wondering if he should reach out, knowing he should apologize, but also proud enough that he wondered if she would make the first move. Settled in the lounge, distractedly watching holographic videos on the monitor in the lounge. It was nothing like he’d grown up with - this was a few generations back at least - but it was, he supposed, better than sitting in his quarters doing nothing. He’d been running rampant through the training rooms and even Reyes had told him to slow down because there wasn’t anyone available at the moment to make any repairs if he damaged himself. Trying to engross himself in a holodrama about reincarnated Chinese lovers in the Omnic Crisis wasn’t working - the plot was absolutely a mess - and he pulled out his phone. Maybe something there would distract him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You fucked up,” Jesse McCree’s voice came from the door. It was as if that was his favorite place to lurk, and Genji turned around over the couch. “I’ve known Angela maybe ten years now, and it takes a lot to get to her. You got to her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ten years?” Genji blinked, fingers debating for the hundredth time on a message. “How have you known her for ten years?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She was a student at the university, spent a lot of time visiting headquarters. She’s known them longer than I have.” Jesse stuck his thumbs in his belt loops. “You pretty much said some of her friends bent her over a barrel, except it was her you were insulting, so you hurt her twice. I think you meant it kindly, and I think she knows that, but… well, she’s not real happy right now. That your usual way of treating a friend?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A friend? He almost pulled back in confusion but restrained himself. It had been a long time since he had a friend - casual acquaintances, passing friends perhaps, but the Shimada hadn’t looked kindly on having close friends outside the clan. Apparently it came easier to Angela, and the idea He slung an arm over the back of the couch and narrowed his eyes. “And you suggest I do what?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">McCree crossed his arms and for a moment had the same look as Hanzo often had: irritation mingled with a bit of disappointment, and a healthy dose of exasperation. “Apologize. She didn’t do a damn thing to you, so why’s she gonna come and beg forgiveness? Go be polite and say you’re sorry for hurting her feelings. You don’t tell her that I said I’d kick your ass six ways to Sunday if you don’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you threatening me?” Genji felt the slow warmth of anger seep into his body. He could feel the cybernetic muscles tighten, his fingers flex, the servos and gears tensing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I’m making a promise.” McCree tilted his hat, looking at the ninja on the couch. “You owe Ange an apology, or I will kick your ass six ways to Sunday.” He grinned. “And I bet Reyes won’t blink an eye.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not going to take advantage of the situation?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And do what?” There was a snort and McCree tipped his hat slightly. “You think I’m gonna try and play on her sympathies? Nah, we tried that years ago, didn’t pan out. Young - well, younger - and I was stupider and more reckless. She’s my age and we didn’t work together, so wasn’t… fraternizing. Went about as well as you’d expect. Wouldn’t say she’s my sister, but… She’s important to me. To a lot of us. You hurt her feelings something fierce, Shimada. Man up and say you’re sorry. Best bet is to take her some chocolate.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Take her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Take leave, like she said. There’re guest quarters at HQ. Bring her a couple of chocolate bars and get the hell off base for a bit. Go live a little, you know? The city’s got bars, clubs, even some adult entertainment. Go spend a couple of days out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like this?” He gestured at himself, trying to encompass the cybernetics, the thick tubes and cables, the metal plates and rubber pieces that made up his body. “I’m fairly certain even this will get turned away from some places.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Look, Shimada, it’s up to you what you do. I’m just offering advice, what I wish someone would have told me when I upset her. Hell, I did it worse - I made her cry. Thought Reinhardt and Torbjörn were going to tear me limb from limb.” He rubbed at his shoulder. “Went in to do target practice one day, and Amari had a target of me, from my Deadlock days. She was alternating between shots to the head and shots to the balls.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You made her cry?” Genji felt unaccountably angry for a moment, that McCree would dare to have wounded Angela in such a way, before the realization that he was close to perhaps doing the same. There must have been something in him that showed it, as a faint smile spread over McCree’s face. Genji looked down and realized he was gripping the couch tight enough to make it squeak again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. So learn from my mistake. I’ll help you with the leave forms if you need it,” McCree added in a surprisingly conciliatory tone. Behind the faceplate, Genji frowned, uncomfortable with this display of generosity, of helpfulness, with no clear benefit to McCree.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you being so helpful to me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The response was simple. “Because Angela wouldn’t be so upset about it if you didn’t mean something to her. If you didn’t mean anything, wouldn’t hurt her so much.” McCree stepped back, leaving Genji staring at the empty door, and then at his phone again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Genji was grateful for the ID badge issued to him when he arrived, an actual legitimate badge that didn’t have a giant V for visitor emblazoned on it. He was dressed in loose clothing plus an oversized hoodie, the better to disguise all the loose cables and bulky connections. It wasn’t too difficult to find her office, even late as it was - there was an access point and an office directory, and his badge seemed to give him the clearances he needed. The base was quiet this late, a small team of agents staffing it, plus night owls still plugging away at their usual research or tasks. He expected that Angela would be long gone after a full day; she seemed the type to be first in the office, and probably one of the last to leave. It was nearly eight at night; he could just leave the chocolate bars and note at her door, and go find the guest quarters he’d been allotted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a weak light pooling in the hallway, spreading out from a doorway where he guessed her office should be. He approached quietly, ninja-soft feet padding along the hall. It was her office - and her voice spilled out as he got closer, quiet words, conversational. “…I hope everything is going well, and when you get back, we’ll have to have lunch. Let me know when everything blows over. I miss you. Stay safe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His stomach churned, wondering who she was talking to, who had the prestige of voice calls. He’d only ever gotten the text messages. He peered around the door. She sat at her desk looking painfully, achingly tired - perhaps even sad. Her square-framed glasses did nothing to hide the dark circles under her eyes. His knuckles rapped on the doorframe one-two-three in quick succession. He saw the shift in her face, the cheer that shifted to polite neutrality. This was a Doctor Ziegler he’d never seen before - even on his worst days of prosthesis installation, his most angry days of recovery, she’d always had a smile and a bit of cheer for him. Even the disappointment she’d shown was clear. This was almost an omnic’s face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Genji. What are you doing in Switzerland?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I come bearing gifts,” he said, taking her words as a tacit invitation. He stepped into her office and reached into the pockets on his hoodie. He pulled out a pair of chocolate bars he’d picked up around the corner; they weren’t much, but it was the best he could do. He pulled his shoulders back, prepared for more of her haughty pride, the looks he would sometimes get from his father or his brother. Time to finish it up and let her get back to whatever she’d been doing. “I hurt your feelings and I’m sorry. That was not my intention, and I am here to apologize.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmm.” She trailed off, running a hand through her hair. He took another few steps forward and put the bars on the desk. He looked at her, then let his eyes skim the room. Photographs on the walls of her and some figures he recognized, some he didn’t. She and the people he’d implied didn’t care about her; a birthday party for Morrison, it looked like. Another, a picture of Reyes and Reinhardt and Amari and Lindholm and others, and Angela and McCree, almost painfully young. A holopic of Angela and a woman he didn’t recognize, Chinese, throwing snowballs at each other in the Overwatch HQ courtyard. Diplomas and certificates on the walls. He stood still as she swiped something off her tablet, ready to wait until she was ready to talk to him. His father had done things like this, too - it was a display of power, and while it frustrated him, he recognized it for what it was. She looked up at him, comfortable in her chair, in her office. This was her territory; she made the calls. “You really did hurt my feelings, you know. Did Jesse say anything?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He had a few choice words for me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She let out a soft laugh that caught him off-guard. “I’m not surprised. He’s a good friend, but sometimes a little… heavy-handed.” She shook her head, made a motion as if brushing something away. “Never mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was hoping to speak to you the next time you came out, but…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s been less than a week.” She frowned slightly, motioned him to the seat across from her desk.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I spoke rashly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You did,” she agreed, and chuckled once at the startled look on his face. “What, did you think I would deny it? No, you hurt my feelings. These,” and she tapped the bars, ”are a good way to earn back my good graces. Did someone tell you they were my favorites?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” he admitted, “I just thought you’d like them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do.” She opened one, and split the bar in half, proffering it to him. “Share it with me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I couldn’t-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You could if you wanted to.” She nibbled a bit of her end of the bar, holding the other half towards him. “I accept your apology, Genji. You made me upset, but you came here, with a token, so it is difficult to still be angry with you. Come on, share with me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doctor Ziegler-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Unless it’s ‘yes, Angela’, I don’t want to hear it.” She heaved a sigh. “I have had a long and trying day and you have capped it off. You are in my office, have flown a long enough way to do this, and I have accepted your apology. Are you going to share this with me or not?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you insist.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do.” She waggled the chocolate bar at him again. “This will keep me going for a few more hours, at least.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s nearly eight. When are you going home?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nearly eight? Probably not for several hours yet. I like the nights, working when it’s quiet, instead of the bustle around here. It gives me time to work on my personal projects as well. I’m in the middle of some data analysis about tissue regeneration based on current research and experiments going on in the labs, and I’m hoping - but I’m not sure - if I’ll hear back from Mei.” Angela shrugged slightly and made a motion in front of her computer. The display flashed, and then there was a cockpit-like display of data projected around her. It made very little sense to Genji - it was in English, but in medical jargon, and bypassed his familiarity and comfort with the language quickly. He saw something about regrowth rates, cell division, and it quickly went beyond his comprehension.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mei?” Names were easier than rates of mitosis. Meiosis? Whatever it was called. Was Mei a-</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dr. Meiling Zhou. She’s a climatologist for Overwatch, working at Ecopoint Antarctica. We don’t get to talk much, so I just sent her a message. There’s a storm brewing there, and I’m worried for them. She said they’re picking up some interesting data, though, so I have no idea what’s going to happen.” Angela took another bite off her half, and gestured at the holopic. “I was just looking through the pictures of us.” She looked across at him, considering. “You can take your hood off, all of that, if you’d like. I know your systems aren’t really intended for coverage.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did not want to be stared at so much.” He pushed the hood back, and the curl of black and red cables along his neck unfurled a bit. He eyed the chocolate she was leaving for him, and he unhooked part of the mask, setting the faceplate on the desk. She smiled gently at him as he did, her eyes looking over his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Genji, you are a person. And there are many in Overwatch with cybernetic prostheses.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am more prosthetic than man, now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Today, here, you are merely another Overwatch agent.” She pointed to the tag clipped to him. “Not Blackwatch, not a patient, but another agent. And one whose body may mostly function with technology, but there is enough flesh and blood beneath it that they also need food and sleep.” She narrowed her eyes, and he took a bite of the chocolate bar obligingly. It <em>was</em> good. “When is the last time you ate?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Before getting on the Orca out here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You need to eat,” she said firmly, pushing back from her desk, and swiping the display away. “And I know just the place.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do not want to eat in public,” he said abruptly, eyes widening. She sighed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Genji, I-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Angela. I am not eating in public.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine.” She took another bite of the half-bar and put the untouched second bar in her desk. “You don’t look as bad as you think you do, and I wish you could realize that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have synthetic skin and muscle all over me, some of it more realistic than others. My face and body are covered in scars, and-” he began, and she crossed her arms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t you dare start in and risk insulting the doctors and cyberneticists who did this,” she said, mouth thinning into a flat, scalpel-sharp line. He caught himself up before saying just that and looked down at the chocolate in his hands. He took a bite to keep himself from saying anything else. “I know you are not… happy, like this, but I wish you could see yourself from my perspective. You’ve fought so hard, done so much. You’re doing amazing work every day, improving in leaps and bounds. Literally,” she added with a hint of wry amusement. “And you came here and apologized, too.” She walked around her desk and stood in front of him. “So you demean me, and the work I did, and the work my colleagues have done, and yourself and the strong person you are, when you do that.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I apologize,” he said again, the words grating on his tongue. “I am not- this body is not what I had. I am not comfortable with it yet. Even if you brought me hair dye.” He took another bite of the chocolate, and she shrugged slightly, shoulders falling. “I appreciate that you tried. But you see… an accomplishment, an achievement, when I see nothing but loss. This is a different body, a bulkier frame, the cords and cables…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“One day, perhaps, we will be able to improve this, if you are willing.” She reached out tentatively to touch his shoulder. “Torbjörn and I have already started to think about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have? But this is only months old-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is a lot of tinkering, a lot of planning, a lot of refining. My goal, our goal, was saving your life first. Aesthetics were secondary. If you’d like, I can show you some of our ideas, with the research we’re doing.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I would like that,” he said, almost too quickly. Angela leaned over her desk, swiped at her tablet and made a few motions, and then spread her hands out to summon the cockpit display again. It threw a new series of text and images out into the room. She made some gestures, rotating the images and display to be better from Genji’s perspective.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were rudimentary sketches, notes, clips, and outlines, on an overlay of what remained of his body. He swallowed heavily at the outlines - no more thick chunky cables on his arms or legs or from his skull and spine, an overall sleeker look. Still, beneath it he could see abruptly where his natural body ended and the grafting and cybernetics were, the complexity of technology that made up - him. Angela gestured, pulling something closer, and he rose up behind her to look at it. He had to step slightly to the side to keep from getting her hair in his face. She was close enough he could feel the heat from her body.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is… very different.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is,” she agreed, “and the technology isn’t there yet. Torbjörn and I are trying to design it, trying to develop a proof of concept.” She took a step back, almost into him. “I couldn’t promise anything like this for another couple of years. It would be far more like armor than what you have now - but,” she added, turning slightly, “you would need to be around for it. So if you can manage with what you have, and manage to be patient… and you’re willing…” she made an expansive gesture. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And if I can’t?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll make your next upgrade look like a children’s television show character,” she responded irritably. “There will be green pointy bits and extra sounds effects. I will make it look ridiculous, put you under anesthesia, and you will wake up looking like a cartoon.” He laughed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And your next suit upgrade will be a maho shojo character? I can see it now - pigtails and long pink streamers… but would you have an animal companion?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turned around and glared at him, but the smile pulling at her lips told him it was more for show than anything else. “You would find that endlessly amusing, wouldn’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. You would have to go with the terribly tiny skirt, though. I believe that’s also required.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have no idea what maho shojo is, but I can tell you’re just pushing your luck, you know. I may have to take that chocolate back.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He very deliberately bit down on the chocolate in question, eyes busy looking at the sketches and the mechanisms. He reached for an image of one of his arms, the left one. “You would - not remove this, no, but-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Plating. It would replace the nerve connection cables, and offer you additional protection. Also…” She began to explain the nuances, and he listened, finding himself drawn in with her enthusiasm for the project, the potential, the little details that would make this more tolerable. She rotated the image, pointing at the changes to the neural links for his spine, the slimmer profile, a dozen tiny changes that would… do so much. He wasn’t sure he wanted to consider the pain and recovery from the new cybernetics, but the ideas appealed to him. She swallowed and laughed a little nervously. “I apologize. I’ve been going off for far too long about this. And you’ve said you don’t like being treated like a subject.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m intrigued by your plans,” he admitted, “and the fact that you are working on refining things. Taking into account my concerns.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I helped do this to you,” she said quietly, almost apologetically. “I do not regret saving your life, and I never will, no matter how angry you may get with me. But the very least I can do is to make the kinds of improvements that will improve your quality of life and address some of your complaints. I do read the mission reports,” she added, “and the comments you make about the cybernetics.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could see why and how she’d become so important to the Overwatch group. She was not just a medical doctor or a pioneering medical researcher, but a person who genuinely wanted to better people’s lives. She wanted to make improvements, and to stretch the medical technology and advancements to do it. He could also see that she’d been working on this recently- the last updates were from this morning, marked ZIEGLER A. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is strange, looking at myself like so many interchangeable parts.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She spun around, nearly hitting him in the face with her hair, and her expression was horrified. “Genji, you’re not… I didn’t mean… You aren’t interchangeable parts. You are not an experiment.” Her eyes were wide, mouth rounded in shocked dismay. “You are a person, not parts.” She put both hands on his shoulders abruptly, looking into his eyes. “You are a person, not parts,” she repeated.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am not offended,” he said, profoundly aware of her proximity, the warmth of her hands through the fabric, the smell of soap and disinfectant and coffee and chocolate. “It’s just a new experience.” He lifted a hand, rested it reassuringly - he hoped - on one of hers. Did her skin always run this hot? “If I can be upgraded, made a better-“ he paused, caught himself before he said <em>weapon</em>, “tool, a better agent, then why should I refuse it?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I was excited. I wanted to show you that we are trying to make things better. I’m trying, in the way I’m best suited for. And you are not a tool, Genji Shimada. Surely Jesse told you I get cross when someone insults my friends.” She withdrew her arms and crossed them over her chest. “I am cross with you now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And who have I insulted this time?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yourself. I would very,” she paused as if to gather breath, “I would very much like to count you among my friends. And I would,” she added firmly, “also like you to help me with non-lethal staff work. If you’re still willing.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Friends. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The word weighed heavily in his mind. McCree had said she thought of him as one, had assumed he thought of her the same way. He wasn’t sure, but - he wasn’t Shimada anymore. Their rules, their limits, didn’t affect him. Was McCree a friend? Was Reyes? He thought of them as coworkers, as colleagues, as other people in proximity, but had never thought of any of these new people as friends before. Weapons did not have friends. People did. And she insisted on still treating him as a person, a whole person. And Jesse <em>had</em> said that she was upset because he meant something to her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He must have been thinking too long, because she stepped back, eyes flicking down and away, shoulders dropping down. He reached out, caught one of her hands in his, skin on skin and the contact was like the early days of his prosthetics, a shock and a jolt to his system.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And what are friends for if not to make sure you take care of yourself?” He tilted his head slightly. “I can tell you are exhausted. You need to sleep.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When did you become the doctor?” She gave him a faintly annoyed look. “How long are you here for?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tonight, and two more days, unless Reyes calls me back early.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, if you’d like,” she paused, glancing down at their linked hands, “tomorrow I have meetings in the morning, but could perhaps show you around some of the city in the afternoon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I would like that,” he said, noticing she hadn’t pulled her hand away, and very conscious that he had also not removed his. “As long as you get your sleep.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am used to late nights when I have work to do. And there’s always work to do here. But I can walk you to the guest quarters if you can wait another few minutes. Get you settled in before I come back up. I’ll probably end up sleeping in one of the on-call cots in the medical wing, myself.” She withdrew her hand slowly and walked back around to the other side of her desk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will stay here with you until you are finished. I should insist on seeing you home, but I probably would not be able to find my way back here if I did.” He reached for his faceplate with his other hand, fingers spread wide to pick it up and slide it back on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t need to put that on unless you want to. Not here.” She stopped, leaned over, and poked him lightly in the chest. “Remember, I’ve seen everything there is to see.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everything?” He raised an eyebrow, and it must have shown because suddenly she burst out laughing. She had been his doctor, his surgeon, he supposed - if anyone knew what he looked like as well as he did, it was her. The idea was somewhat unnerving - and for once, it had nothing to do with the cybernetic attachments.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, everything. You have no secrets from me, Genji Shimada.” There might have been a glint in her eyes, one he hadn’t seen from someone in a very long time. That had been a look reserved for the green-haired, spoiled Shimada scion. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have plenty of secrets, even from you, Doctor Ziegler,” he countered. “You may know my body, but that is all you have a claim to. And it’s unfair for you to know so much about me when I know so little about you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let me do a bit more work, and then I’ll show you to your quarters. And perhaps tomorrow once I’m done with my meetings…” She trailed off, drummed her fingers against the table with a series of nail clicks. “Well, I made promises to you about the chocolate shops here, didn’t I? And there are the arcade games in the lounge here. Good for hand-eye coordination and spatial orientation. That is, if you didn’t already have plans.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a date, then,” he said, and then bit down on his tongue. That was the old Genji, the flippant Genji. She wouldn’t allow it, she would be offended. He readied himself for the haughtiness again, or an offended look, or even a careful denial and let-down. He was ready for anything.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her voice was cool and collected, utterly professional, and it took his mind a moment to parse the words. “Athena, please block out my afternoon and arrange for rescheduling of anything currently on my calendar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anything but that. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: We don’t have an exact date for Mei’s cryostasis entry, so I’m taking some liberties. I’ve also used some of the tech and info established in _The Hero of Numbani_ for this. I'm also not thrilled with the ending, TBH, but these two were not being very helpful in closing the scene out in any way!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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